Black Pears In My Fridge

I have never EVER admitted that 'domestic goddess' was or will be associated with likes of me. The black pears in my fridge is a testament of that. Having my own pad now has opened a whole new world containing the following phrases: "You mean I can't do that? B-b-but it makes so much sense", "Damn you dust! Damn you!" and "Ooops, I did it again".

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I think that some people are born with it and some (yours truly) are not.

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Example. I bought fragrant pears one day. Said pears were very waxy even after a thorough scrubbing and soaking. So yours truly sat down and tapped head to quicken the thinking process ala Pooh Bear style. "Think Lish, think." The answer came to me and promptly I boiled a kettle of water and poured it into a bowl. After 3 seconds of being dipped into the hot water, the pears felt much cleaner and my innards were thanking me for my brilliance. Brilliance indeed. The next day when I opened my fridge, the pears had turned BLACK...entirely black...a gross hue of black. I was shocked. I closed the fridge door. Took a deep breath and opened the door again. The pears were still black, black, black.

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The lesson I learned: you apparently can't soak fruits in hot water to get rid of the wax. "You mean I can't do that? But it sounded like such a good idea!"

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As for the black pears, they are still in my fridge. Maybe I can bring them to the pasar malam and market them as some exotic sweet pears from Timbuktu (let's hope no one who goes to the pasar malam reads this post). Or, I have some friends coming over this Wed. Bwa ha ha ha! "Care for some pears, my lovelies?"